


Everyone

by 3tequilafloor



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Sickfic, Stomach Ache, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7864738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3tequilafloor/pseuds/3tequilafloor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>For the request: <i>Could you do one where everyone has a stomach ache or something? For Haikyuu!!?</i></p>
<p>Buckle up, everyone. Here we go.</p>
<p>(A series of mostly unconnected scenarios in which everyone gets a turn to suffer.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cream Puff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part I of many yet to come. In which most of the third years at Aobajousai are miserable.

Practice has been boring the past two days. Alright, not boring exactly, but definitely less fun than usual. The captain has been making trouble and taking as good as he gives just as usual. They’ve worked long, hard hours the same as they always do. (It always pays off, after all.) The only difference has honestly been Hanamaki’s absence. Somehow, it’s still still enough to make everything feel different. 

By the second day, Issei picks up a half dozen of Hanamaki’s favourite profiterole cream puffs and stashes them in his locker. They’ll probably be moldy or carry a lingering scent of sweaty athletic socks by the time his teammate actually finds them, but it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?

When Hanamaki actually shows up for practice the next day, Issei hides a grin in his own locker. Good, he’s alive. Maybe not well, since he looks awfully pale, but he must have decided he’s alright enough to take whatever abuse coaches and captain dish out for the day. That’s saying something. 

The rustling of paper tells Issei the profiteroles have been discovered. Hanamaki doesn’t dig in like expected, but he doesn’t throw them out either. He just peeks curiously into the pastry bag, contemplates them for a moment, and puts them away for later. It’s probably the sensible thing to do when they’re about to go run laps for being a little late.

Issei’s stomach flips over in dread at the idea of running laps. He doesn’t like running any more than anyone else does most days, but for some reason today it sounds particularly unpleasant. He hadn’t meant to be late, anyway, he’d just had trouble dragging himself there. He’s a little tired. It’s nearly the end of the week, and they’re probably all dragging. Three others besides Issei and Hanamaki are late as well, so at least they’ll be punished as a group. Group punishments tend to be a bit more bearable. 

“Late! Late! Late! Late! Late!” Coach calls to each of them as they step out into the gymnasium. He makes a circular motion, and doesn’t even give them a number. That’s probably not good. They might be running for a long while. Issei swallows down the groan he desperately wants to voice, and falls into line. Oh, well. He’ll be running from class tomorrow instead, because it’s much easier than this.

Then again, he could probably use the extra conditioning. He feels as sluggish as his teammates, and there’s nothing like a wave of adrenaline to pick them all back up. Poor Hanamaki, though. He doesn’t look so hot. He’d better not be running while running a fever. Issei decides to ask him about it if he ever catches him up. 

Ugh, what’s the matter with him? Usually he and Hanamaki can easily keep pace, but at the moment, he’s staring at everyone’s backs. The captain calls out to him to pick up the pace (asshole,) as he passes. Issei nods and digs deep, but his calves feel numb. His feet feel leaden. His stomach is still flopping over in ugly waves of dread, apparently for all of the running it knows is yet to come. 

Everything blurs and narrows down in his vision, until it feels like he’s running alone. He can’t seem to look at anything but the floor in front of him, so he concentrates on making sure his feet move. One foot, then the other. Breathe in, breathe out. Keep going, it can’t last forever. It can’t, it can’t, it can’t. He can get through this, and then, everything else. One foot at a time. One breath per stride.

He’s sweating after the first lap, and stumbling after the third. Issei is almost relieved when his insides go still, but then he hears a sick cough up ahead. It’s really only by instinct that he leaps over the liquid that splashes out on the floor. That’s… Motomu. Vomit? Issei jumps on instinct, but his brain is slow to catch up. 

No one else reacts slowly. The squeaking of trainers on the floor dies down and murmurs rise up in its place. There’s a shout, a response, a thump. The thump is Heisuke, dropping onto the bench cradling his own stomach and making a retching sound.  
Issei is making thumping sounds too, his feet no longer hitting the floor evenly. Sweat drips into his eyes. Everything sounds garbled, the way it does in the summer when he sits on the bottom of a swimming pool and watches the distorted people above walking around the deck. 

As he starts his next lap, Iwaizumi reaches out and grabs his shoulder. “Got Matsukawa! Who else did you -Hey, stop, you’re done. Stop.” Issei doesn’t even realize he’s still trying to run until Iwaizumi steps in front of him like a big, muscular wall. The guy hardly even grunts as he’s run into, but the impact is like a shock wave to Issei. It resonates in his head. His stomach rolls over again.

“Yuda and Takahiro-oh! Iwa-chan, take a step back!” Oikawa is saying, but none of it registers properly with Issei. Especially not the last part. Not until it’s far too late, and Iwaizumi is staring down at the vomit stains on his shirt. That is… cheeseburg- oh. No. No, no, no. That’s his lunch. Or, it was.

There’s a sour taste in Issei’s mouth, there’s something thick and warm pooling in his shoes, and he thinks he just threw up on his teammate. The way Oikawa is gaping at them both with a crinkled nose doesn’t make him feel any better.

Behind him somewhere he hears Kaneo let go on the court as well. Oh, man, they are going to be running laps for the rest of their lives. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened in practice, not just in high school either. All the way back to middle school, Issei has never seen anything like this before. 

Iwaizumi is still stunned and surly looking when Hanamaki jogs over, pale and sweaty himself, but not vomit stained at least. “Shit. You caught it. I’m so sorry…”

The thickness of something acidic coating his tongue makes it hard for Issei to answer, and anyway his brain is refusing to process the situation. He’s relieved to see Hanamaki, at least. “I think… think I needa siddown,” he admits. 

Hanamaki lays a hand on his shoulder, eyes springing wide with concern. Oikawa chuckles darkly. Iwaizumi finally groans in disgust, the shock seeming to have worn off. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Yeah, buddy.” Makki promises. “We’ll get you home soon, alright? C’mon. Time to hit the showers, alright?”

On the way to the locker room, Issei’s shoes keep slipping. He swallows hard when he realizes it’s because he’s been sick on them. Iwaizumi has to catch him half a dozen times so he doesn’t fall over. Everything feels muted and dim at the moment, but later he’s probably going to be embarrassed about this.

The toilet stalls are already fully occupied with queasy teammates by the time they make it in there, and coach is ranting at someone over the phone. Oikawa’s using his serious tone out on the main court, and it echoes all the way behind them as they go.

Hanamaki makes a dive for the rubbish bin and sicks up whatever is in his stomach, which only gets a halfhearted grunt of complaint from Iwaizumi at this point. The guy seems thoroughly done with all of them, and Issei can’t really blame him.

Not just laps, Issei thinks. They’ll all be scrubbing floors as well. After they’re dead, that is, because coach is most definitely going to kill them all if Iwaizumi doesn’t. 

At least they’re going to the afterlife together, then.


	2. Saltwater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aoba Jousai part II for the Everyone has a stomachache prompt

Kentarou grips the railing so tightly his fingertips go numb. Coach, captain and a nosy porter have all told him to stay back from the railing in the rough waters, but if he’s going to lose it he’s gonna let the ocean have it.

Kindaichi and Kunimi have already lost their battles. They’re pale-faced and tight-lipped, on the other side of the window to the dining area. Those little plastic baggies the porters advise seasick passengers to use are tight within their grips. Fresh ones –the soiled ones have been disposed of somewhere already. 

That’s fine for those guys, but Kentarou isn’t about to huddle indoors just because of a little rain. He’s especially irritated over the fact that the weather was fine when they set out. Leaving the dock, everything had looked smooth and bright ahead. Two hours into a miserable six hour ferry ride things have decidedly taken a turn for the worse.

“Kyoutani, get in here!” Captain calls crossly from the nearest enterance to the observation deck. Kentarou isn’t about to risk turning around to look (he’d probably be thrown overboard,) but he sounds a little pale himself. The sneeze that follows the command doesn’t bode well either. The damned fool should worry about getting himself in out of the rain instead. He sounds awful. 

Kentarou spits up a mouthful of saliva, noting the way the flood of it in his mouth is accompanied by more awful churning and groaning from his stomach. He doesn’t say anything. The waves are tossing the boat about wildly at this point, sometimes lifting him right off of his feet. There’s no way the captain will venture out to drag him inside. He’d be tossed over for sure. 

When a strong grip takes hold of the back of his jacket, Kentarou doesn’t have to turn to look and see who it is. He holds up a hand, placating, because he knows he’s about to be dragged inside whether he likes it or not. Even though the ocean spray keeps literally slapping him in the face when he gets too close to the side of the boat he still wants to get it up on his own terms if he’s going to have to hurl. 

Iwaizumi’s annoyance is palpable, but at least he isn’t lecturing like the others. A particularly rough buck from the ship has Kentarou scrabbling to grip the railing with both hands again, but it’s so wet where he let it go before that his hand slips off and he pitches forward, coming dizzyingly close to cracking his skull off the damned thing. If not for the steel grip that’s suddenly around his waist he’s almost certain he’d have been pitched overboard. 

The downside is that the pressure from Iwaizumi’s arm around his middle is the last straw. The muscles in Kentarou’s back and abdomen are particularly well-developed, and it feels like every single one of them clenches up at once. He doesn’t feel any desire to lean forward again, which is fine because when the vomit comes it’s all at once in a quick, hard surge that arcs easily over the railing. 

Iwaizumi grunts when he realizes he’s being used to anchor down someone in the midst of projectile vomiting amid a storm at sea, but thankfully he doesn’t let go. After Kentarou gives his lunch up to the seas Iwaizumi wastes no time dragging him forcibly inside. There’s no use arguing about it anymore anyway, but it’s just one more sore spot added to the massive bruising his ego always seems to suffer around the guy. 

Kenatarou can’t bring himself to thank Iwaizumi, but he grunts softly in as agreeable of a tone as he can manage when they step in out of the rain, both of them dripping puddles of freezing water everywhere. There’s no small amount of resentment in Kentarou’s posture when he accepts the baggie offered to him and takes his seat in between Yahaba and Watari, who are both hiccuping over their own bags threateningly. 

The captain gives a stone faced Iwaizumi a shaky, queasy grin that communicates his gratitude so clearly it makes Kentarou’s stomach roll over again. It’s going to be a long few hours until they finally reach land again.


End file.
